


Nothing but this

by jperalta



Category: Barry (TV 2018)
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Blood, Cutting, Guilt, Panic Attacks, Self-Harm, Spoilers, Suicidal Thoughts, What Have I Done
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-26
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:33:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22914046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jperalta/pseuds/jperalta
Summary: Immediately after the season 2 finale --His breath was getting away from him. His heart was caving in on itself and he thought he was going to die. He found himself hyperventilating and couldn’t make it stop. His hands were shaking even more now. He curled his hands into fists and dug his nails into his palms as he let out a scream. Someone would probably hear him. Someone would probably come after him but he didn’t care anymore. He wanted it all to be over.Barry has a "holy crap what have I done" kind of panic attack, and Hank is the only one there to help him through it.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 36





	Nothing but this

Fuches was gone. Barry had missed him. And after all that he had just done... he was just gone. His heart was racing and his chest was tight. He looked down at the gun in his hand, and he hated it. His hands were shaking. What had he done?

He threw himself into a room and locked the door behind him. Everything he had been working towards, everything he had been trying to put behind him, and it had all fallen apart. He couldn’t be with himself anymore. Why did he ever think he could change? Gene’s trusting face popped up in his head. He had been practically catatonic after seeing Janice’s body - and how could he not be? Seeing her long dead corpse in the trunk of a car, it was enough to make anyone lose their grip. The image flashed in front of his eyes. “Fuck, fuck,” he said as he whacked the side of his head with the gun a few times. It would leave a welt, and he deserved it. He deserved every horrible thing that could ever possibly happen to him. Killing Fuches wouldn’t change anything, either. It wouldn’t change what Barry had done to Janice, to Chris, to Gene - it wouldn’t change anything.

While pacing around the room, he caught sight of a body with a bullet straight through the middle of its skull. The sight of it made Barry realize the severity of what he had just done, and he flung himself behind some boxes into a corner so he couldn’t see it anymore as the gun fell to his side. His breath was getting away from him. His heart was caving in on itself and he thought he was going to die. He found himself hyperventilating and couldn’t make it stop. His hands were shaking even more now. He curled his hands into fists and dug his nails into his palms as he let out a scream. Someone would probably hear him. Someone would probably come after him but he didn’t care anymore. He wanted it all to be over. The killing, the lying, the fear - all of it. He wanted out. He screamed again, almost begging for someone to come get him. Between screams he let out sobs into the tepid air. The lights were flickering all around him. A small scrap piece of metal caught his eye lying on top of a box to his side. His breathing continued to quicken as he reached out towards it, desperate for some sort of release. Why had he thought that murdering a bunch of people he hardly knew or didn’t know at all would help him feel better? It never had before. It never felt good. It had only been his job.

He clutched the semi-rusted metal in his hands and the jagged edges worked their ways into his palms. Blood was starting to seep between his fingers. He squeezed it tighter and more blood spread around his hands as he continued to feel incapable of breathing. Finally he slid the metal across his forearms and watched as the motions were followed with thin red lines. He cried more. The sight of the blood was a distraction - some strange form of release, but it was something. He kept sliding the metal on his body and tried to focus on the sting and the pain as he sobbed and thought of everyone he’d ever hurt. He thought of what they would want to do to him, if they’d feel happy knowing how much anguish he was in at this moment. Chris’s kind face appeared and Barry closed his eyes, as if that would make it all go away. But it didn’t and he felt that it never would. There was no point in even trying to escape this anymore. He’d never make it out. He eyed the gun, knowing he had at least one more bullet.

***

Hank heard the screams echoing through the halls of the ever too quiet house. Batir gave him a look and a tug of the head as if to say, go find out who did this and bring them to me. So Hank came out from his hiding place and walked through the sea of dead bodies, heart pounding as he knew it was Barry who was out there. Barry wouldn’t hurt him, right? No, he probably would. He had seemed pretty out of it. But he pushed on anyway, not knowing exactly what to do or what he’d say when he found him.

Hank headed in the direction he had heard the screams coming from, although by now they had stopped. He poked his head into a few rooms, looking at the dead men lying on the ground and feeling his heart sink more with every other body he encountered - and there were so many.

He reached a door that wasn’t open, and when he tried to open it he found that this one was locked. He looked down the hall to make sure Batir hadn’t followed him, which he hadn’t. Hank looked around and saw a gun lying on the ground, which he picked up and shot at the lock, making the door swing open.

“Barry?” Hank whispered as he entered the room and closed the door behind him. “It is Hank. Please do not kill me, thank you.” He stepped over a body and followed the sounds of tattered breathing coming from the back. There was a lot of blood on the floor and he couldn’t help but to step in it. “Barry?”

He pushed a box aside and saw Barry sitting in the corner, grasping a piece of jagged metal in his blood-soaked hands, ramming it into his arms and his legs and wherever he could manage. Hank ran towards him and grabbed Barry’s hands in his own. “Barry, stop it! What are you doing?” Barry was sobbing heavily, his face covered in tears and blood. Hank wasn’t sure how much blood was Barry’s and how much was everyone else’s.

Hank tried to restrain Barry’s arms so that he’d stop hurting himself, but Barry pushed him away with his legs. “Get off of me,” Barry mumbled, “just leave me alone. Let me do it.” He reached towards his gun and Hank kicked it away.

Hearing Barry talk like this greatly concerned Hank, and he crouched towards him again in the corner. “Barry, man, you’re not thinking okay,” he tried gently. “Yes you went a little crazy but it is okay. It is not a giant deal.”

Barry cried more, becoming dizzy with a combination of the loss of blood and the horrible anxiety he was feeling. “I want it to be over. I just want to be dead already.” He took in a breath to scream again but Hank quickly covered his mouth.

“I don’t want you to be dead. You need to breathe.” He moved his hand to Barry’s chest, as if trying to remind him how to do it. “This will too pass,” he said, trying to remember some mantra he had read somewhere.

The gentle touch of Hank’s hand on Barry’s heart was enough to make him at least try to calm down. He tried as hard as he could to take in deep breaths, despite how easy it felt to give in and completely lose it again.

“That’s good,” Barry said, rubbing Barry’s shoulder with his other hand. “We have to be nice to Barry.”

Hank’s kindness was making Barry cry more, but in a different way this time. “I don’t know why...” he began, but changed direction. “You should hate me,” he said, his voice low as he resisted the urge to scream.

“Probably,” was all Hank said. “But I don’t. You do that enough for everyone.”

Barry let out a quick breath, almost a laugh. He looked down at his arms, his legs, and saw how much blood there was. “Fuck,” he said, still in shock at what he had done to everyone and to himself. His eyes were wide now and Hank moved his hand so they were both on Barry’s shoulders.

“It will be okay,” Hank said with a small smile.

“How on earth can you say that? I just... I just killed... I don’t even know how many people. I wanted to... I don’t want to do this anymore.”

“It is okay, people have relapse, people get good again. It happens.”

The two stared at each other for a moment and Barry wandered if he and Hank were actually real friends. The thought surprised him, but it didn’t seem entirely implausible.

“Now,” Hank said while standing up straight, “Batir is here, and is a little, um, surprised at all of the death, so instead of bringing you to him like he wants I will say please just go out the back door there.” 

Barry noticed the door to his right and was almost shocked that it would end up being this easy. “But what about you?” Barry asked.

“You worry about me, that is too kind, but I will just say I couldn’t find you and that I didn’t see you.”

Barry shook his head again. He wanted to ask again why Hank would do that for him, but he guessed there wasn’t really a point in asking anymore. Hank was just going to keep being nice to him and Barry might just have to come around to accepting that. Hank put his hands forward and Barry grabbed ahold of them as he was pulled upwards. His whole body hurt and he’d have to do something about that, but he was somehow still alive, and at the moment that was okay. Hank gave Barry another smile before exiting the room, and on the other side of the door Barry could hear Hank say, “There is no one here.” Barry opened the back door and ended up in some alleyway. The air was much cooler outside and bits of wind whipped at his face. The cuts on his arms and legs stung and he’d have to assess what damage he had done, and maybe go to the hospital. But Hank - for some goddamn reason - had saved his life, at least for a bit.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and I'm sorry


End file.
